


your alibi

by goldearring (leoandsnake)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoandsnake/pseuds/goldearring
Summary: Louis meets Liam by burglarizing him.





	your alibi

**Author's Note:**

> based loosely off this: https://www.tucsonweekly.com/TheRange/archives/2014/03/31/this-english-same-sex-marriage-story-is-better-than-anything-were-likely-to-find-today

Liam’s sleeping badly, tonight, which is the only reason he hears it -- a soft tinkling crash down the hall of his flat, and someone swearing.

He sits up in bed immediately, his heart pounding, and grabs the nearest weapon he can: a tension rod he was going to use to hang his curtains. He's only just moved in here.

 _Bad neighborhood_ , his mum had warned him. He'd waved her off. He regrets it, now.

Liam strides down the hall, holding the tension rod like a cricket bat. They must hear his footsteps, because there's more swearing, and then a general commotion.

All of them manage to get away but one, who trips on the carpet. Liam whacks the tension rod off the back of his head and grabs him by the scruff of the neck, rolling him over and yanking his ski mask off.

He's actually sort of cute.

“Oww,” the cute robber complains. “That fuckin’ ‘urt!”

“Oi, what’re you doing in my house?” Liam demands.

The cute robber rolls his eyes. “Jesus, mate -- I've got a ski mask on, three guesses.”

“I wouldn't get cheeky,” Liam snaps. “Your friends are gone, I've got the drop on you, and I’ve -- I've already called nine nine nine.”

The robber grins at him. “No you haven't.”

Liam hesitates, and then admits, “Fine, I haven't, but my neighbors probably already have.”

This is patently false; his neighbors are Trainspotting-level druggies who could sleep through a second Blitz, but this bloke doesn't need to know that.

“Look, we didn't think you'd be here,” the robber says. “Last we knew, this place was empty. We're not armed, or anythin'. Sorry for scaring you.”

He sounds genuine. Liam softens.

“I've just moved here last week. Why'd you break in, if you thought it was empty?”

“Me friend hid some cash in the wall from a score, so he could come get it back later when the heat passed. I'm just helping him out. I'm not a criminal, I swear.”

“Why should I believe you?”

The robber shrugs.

“Look, if you're going to call nine nine nine, can I have a cup of tea before they get here?” he says.

 

/

 

Liam doesn't call the cops, but he does make him a cup of tea after he frisks him for any hidden weapons. The tinkling noise from earlier turns out to be from them breaking one of his mugs -- not one of his favorites, he notes with relief.

The robber introduces himself as Louis Tomlinson, which Liam doesn't believe is his real name, so he shows him his driver’s license.

“Look,” Louis suggests, while they're sharing a pack of digestives and once he's texted his partners in crime to let them know he hasn't been pinched. “We've already broken your door in -- sorry about that, by the way -- so why don't you let me bust your wall to get the cash, and then you can tell your landlord it all happened at once? Then he'll take the damage out your insurance, and I can get me friend his cash so he can pay off his debts and not get his shins bashed in.”

Liam nods. This sounds fair to him.

“You're clever, for a robber,” he says.

“I'm not a robber!” Louis looks indignant. “I'm a club promoter, for your information.”

“No shit? I'm a DJ.”

“Oh, that explains why you live like this,” Louis says.

“Hey!”

 

/

 

Together they put on gloves and bash the wall in, and sure enough, behind the layer of drywall is a bag of fat stacks. Louis counts them, and pockets one.

“He only needs ten,” he explains to Liam. “This is thirteen, all told. He won't miss a thou.”

“Finder’s fee, for staying behind.”

Louis grins. “Exactly.”

“What're you going to buy with that?”

“Painkillers, for this lump you left on the back of me ‘ead.”

“No, really.”

Louis shrugs. His hair is still ruffled from Liam yanking the ski mask off him. “Send it to my family,” he says, sounding sincere.

Liam softens toward him further.

 

/

 

 

Louis makes the half-gentlemanly offer to stay with him, because it's a dangerous neighborhood and they left him without a lock.

“Anyone could come in here,” he declares.

“Yeah,” Liam says drily. “I think they already did.”

“I'm not _anyone_.”

Liam steps closer to him. “You could be a murderer, and I wouldn't even know.”

Louis gazes up at him. “You think I'm a murderer?”

Liam gazes back. “No,” he admits.

A grin spreads over Louis’ face.

“You're very cute, mate,” he says. “Too bad we had to meet like this.”

“What's wrong with meeting like this?”

“You're not big on the self-preservation instincts, are you?”

“Hey,” Liam complains. “I did ask if you were a murderer.”

“‘Cos of course, I'd tell you if I was.”

They inch even nearer, breathing slower. Louis bites at his lip, looking up at him under the fan of his lashes.

Liam strokes his hair off his forehead and leans in to kiss him. Louis eagerly kisses him back.

 

/

 

They snog a lot on the couch, then the natural course of things takes them to Liam’s bed, tripping over half-unpacked boxes in the hall.

They end up having really fantastic sex until early morning, wrapped around each other, murmuring about how good the other feels. Liam can hardly believe his luck; he's been single for months now because of his odd work hours, and now an attractive bloke has quite literally banged his door down. He didn't even have to pay for an Uber. It's by far the cheapest date he's ever been on, if you don't count all the property damage.

When they wake up, Louis scampers off to deliver the cash to his friend, wearing his black jeans and turtleneck from last night. He ditches the ski mask down a gutter on his way out.

Liam watches him go, wondering if he's ever going to hear from him again. He did put his number in Liam's phone, with a peach emoji by his name, which is encouraging.

And sure enough, Louis comes back around ten, when Liam has just gotten out of the shower. He's dressed down in normal clothes, and lets himself in.

“Hi,” he chirps, perching on Liam's bed as he towels his hair dry. “You ought to call the bobbies.”

Liam looks up at him in alarm. “What?”

“So they can do their poking around and tell your landlord it ain't your fault, I mean. So you don't get screwed out of your security deposit or anythin’. Like, call and tell them you were out last night, with me,” Louis points to himself, “your alibi. And then you got back this morning and found your flat trashed.”

“Smart,” Liam says. He pauses. “Wait, have I got Stockholm syndrome? Is that why I think you're so smart?”

Louis laughs. “First of all,” he says, “Definitely not how Stockholm syndrome works. Second of all, I _am_ smart.”

"Yeah?"

"Look, if you'd called them in the first place when you tackled me, we wouldn't have to lie, now would we?"

His eyes are twinkling as he says this.

"Why do I trust you?" Liam says, amused. "I can't figure."

"'Cos you can tell I'm a nice boy who was brought up right."

"A nice boy who breaks into houses."

"A nice boy who likes to help his friends out," Louis corrects. "And a nice boy who gives good head."

“Hmm,” Liam says.

“Hmm,” Louis repeats, smiling, and gets up to come snog him.

He's a very skilled kisser. Liam wraps his arms around him, slipping his hands down into his jeans to grab his arse.

 

/

 

Louis brought muffins and coffee, so they get into those at the kitchen table while they rehearse their alibi and wait for the police to arrive.

They get Dets. Burroughs and Maclellan, who appear disgruntled with the small-time nature of the crime and the lack of fingerprints.

“So you weren't home at all last night, Mr Payne,” Burroughs says, shining her flashlight over the hole in the wall.

“No, he was with me all night,” Louis says casually. He's an excellent liar.

“Where'd’you know each other from?” Maclellan calls to them from the foyer, as he's picking over the remnants of the smashed lock.

“Grindr,” Louis says, at the same time Liam says, “Work.”

Panicked, they glare at each other for half a second.

“Is it Grindr or work?” Burroughs says, lifting a brow.

“We met on Grindr, and I messaged him ‘cos I recognized him from work,” Louis says. “He's a DJ, I'm a club promoter.”

“I see.”

They have Liam fill out a report, but don't seem overly concerned (“It's a shit neighborhood, to be honest,” Maclellan says, hitching up his gun belt. “Probably drug related.”) and ring up his rental company to let them know that fixing the door is a priority.

When they've gone, Louis turns to him.

“I ought to stay until the locksmith comes,” he says. “Just in case.”

Liam smiles. “Just in case.”

 

/

 

They never really work it out, what to say when people ask how they met. Work people wouldn't believe them if they said they met at work -- they quickly find out they have their musician friend Niall in common, and he knows for a fact they didn’t know each other -- so it's usually Grindr. Sometimes Liam gets mixed up and says Tinder, but he doesn't think anyone's keeping track.

Their families get the work alibi. Their friends get a mix between the two: sometimes Louis goes rogue and starts doing an improv routine, claiming they met at some pub Liam's never heard of, and Liam will go, “Yeah, and he spilled his drink on me,” and Louis will go too far with something like, “Yeah, and then we had it off in the toilet,” and Liam will object by pinching him under the table.

Eventually they wind up hanging out on a rooftop in London with the other blokes who broke into his flat, who are all very apologetic about it.

“But look at it this way,” Stan says, “we got you a boyfriend, didn't we?”

Liam and Louis look at each other; Louis is smiling at him fondly in the dark.

“Good job you hadn't hung your curtains up, yet,” he says.

Liam leans in and kisses him. They separate, grinning dizzily at each other.

“But you really ought to move, lad,” he adds. “Jesus Christ. That neighborhood’s so dangerous.”


End file.
